


This Cherished Chore

by heartswells



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Body Worship, Cunnilingus, F/F, Face-Sitting, Haircuts, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, Light Femdom, Love Confessions, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, Rule 63, Self-Esteem Issues, Tenderness, Vaginal Fingering, Yearning, the intersection between body image and self worth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:08:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22547563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartswells/pseuds/heartswells
Summary: Ryan longed: desperately, ardently, endlessly. She yearned to reach out and touch her, to press her finger against Tyson’s pulse and revel in the magnificence of her beating heart, and she trembled with the effort of resisting. Her love for Tyson was a raw, bleeding wound. She wanted to give Tyson everything she had, but Tyson had not asked for it, and thus she could not, and she anguished for it.
Relationships: Ryan Graves/Tyson Jost
Comments: 1
Kudos: 33





	This Cherished Chore

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Steelwing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steelwing/gifts).



The mechanical hum of Tyson’s hair clippers soothed Ryan, lulling her with its steady buzzing, and she sank into its sound like warm water. Her bony knees ached from kneeling on the hard, unforgiving porcelain of the bathtub, and she could feel the beginnings of bruises aching beneath her skin. Ryan had stripped to her underwear to save her clothes from ruin, and the cold air bit at her vulnerable skin, making her shiver. Despite this, Ryan painstakingly maintained perfect stillness and silence. She was unwilling to disrupt the moment with her petty discomfort. It felt too fragile, too delicate, too surreal. She feared that it would crumble to nothingness if she interrupted it with her own graceless existence. 

  
  


The candied scent of strawberry bubblegum flooded Ryan’s lungs as Tyson blew a shower of hair clippings off of her shoulders, and they fluttered down to land on her thighs, making her itch; still she did not move. The heat of Tyson’s breath set Ryan’s skin aflame and awoke within her an aching emptiness that begged to be touched and warmed. Ryan longed: desperately, ardently, endlessly. She yearned to reach out and touch her, to press her finger against Tyson’s pulse and revel in the magnificence of her beating heart, and she trembled with the effort of resisting.

  
  


Ryan admonished herself for her own lack of gratitude. She should be thankful for any blessed second spent beside Tyson; she should feel privileged to be permitted even the simple gift of looking upon her. Instead, Ryan was overwhelmed by what she did not and could not have. She felt gluttonous, like a woman possessed by voraciousness, whose sin made her incapable of cherishing. Ryan’s love for Tyson was a raw, bleeding wound. She wanted to give Tyson everything she had, but Tyson had not asked for it, and thus she could not, and she anguished for it. 

  
  


“You’re so beautiful.” Tyson’s words startled Ryan. Her voice was hushed and heavy, burdened by the weight of reverence. Always, Tyson’s voice was thickly laden with desperation when she complimented her, as if she was begging Ryan to understand an urgent secret hidden within her words, pleading with Ryan to _believe_ her. And Ryan never had believed herself to be beautiful; she had always felt too sharp, too angular, too large, like a jagged creature hewn of concrete. But to question Tyson’s judgement, when Tyson herself was beauty’s epiphany, seemed blasphemous. If Tyson deemed her beautiful, then surely she must be, and if Ryan had not been before, then she had been made so by Tyson’s touch. Ryan wanted to thank her, but the weight of Tyson’s worship was suffocating, and it left her too dizzy and breathless to speak. 

  
  


Tyson set down the hair clippers and picked up a comb— _her_ comb—and worked it through the strands that Ryan kept long atop her head. She dragged the teeth through her hair with reverential slowness, elongating her movements in a wishful attempt to make the task eternal. The haircut should have been quick, a simple touch-up to her undercut worth little more than five minutes. Usually, Ryan preferred to do it herself, but Tyson had burst into the bathroom and caught her wrist between her fingers, pleading to _be allowed this treasured chore_ , and, well, Ryan had never learned how to deny her a single thing. She had known that it would be dangerous, that allowing Tyson to treat her like art would force her deeper into the aching loneliness of her love, but she had told herself that she could handle it, promised herself that she wouldn’t allow this to devastate her. She had been so terribly, terribly wrong. 

  
  


Tyson set down her comb and dragged her fingers through the freshly-shorn sides of Ryan’s head. Their softness was so enticing that Tyson couldn’t help but lean forward and nuzzle her cheek against the right side, like an affectionate kitten or a curious child. Tyson giggled at her own silliness and pressed a loving kiss atop Ryan’s head, and Ryan felt her heart break. That kiss was like a crumb to her starving, atrophying heart, and it did nothing to sate her, illuminating instead the agonizing depth of her hunger. 

  
  


“Ryan,” Tyson gasped, “why are you crying?”

  
  


Ryan blinked and felt tears burning her skin. She had not immediately realized that she had begun crying, but now that she did, she felt overwhelmed by it, powerless to the rebellion of her body. She trembled and opened her mouth, shaping words with her lips that refused to emerge. Language was failing her. The only thing she knew was—

  
  


“I love you,” Ryan croaked. Shame wracked her. She felt vulnerable and exposed, and that insecurity made her feel hideous. She knew she was ugly when she cried, and the fickle protection that her cheap make-up allowed her was being washed away by snot and tears, revealing all that she had been taught to hide. She felt unworthy and ashamed to be seen.

  
  


“I love you too,” Tyson answered, dropping to her knees. She cupped Ryan’s face in her hands and tenderly thumbed away her tears. Her eyes reflected worry, shock, and guilt; a gaze better suited for hospitals. 

  
  


“No, I _love_ you, Tyson. I love you more than I know how to say. I love you more than I can cope with. And I know you don’t feel the same—”

  
  


Tyson kissed her because she was not artful with words, and she wielded her kiss as a confession. Ryan’s tears fell between their lips, and the materialization of her pain dissolved between them. It was a chaste kiss, their lips soft and still against one another’s, simply spent suspended in the brief euphoria of togetherness. But Ryan was crying and could not breathe through her nose, so Tyson pulled away and held some toilet paper to her nose as a tissue. Ryan blushed, feeling melodramatic and shamefully gross as Tyson gently wiped her nose clean. Tyson kissed the bridge of her nose softly; she did not—and could never—believe Ryan to be gross.

  
  


“I’m sorry,” Tyson murmured, voice quivering as she struggled to bear the weight of her remorse and shame. “I had just assumed that you knew. I’ve loved you for so long.”

  
  


“I’m—”

  
  


“Please don’t apologize, Ryan,” Tyson interrupted sorrowfully while lightly rubbing her thumb against Ryan’s cheek to soothe her. “I should have told you. _I’m_ sorry. I’ve loved you since the day I met you, but look how much I’ve hurt you.”

  
  


Ryan couldn’t stand the guilt and regret in Tyson's eyes, couldn’t stand to hear her degrade herself for mistakes that they had both made, but she knew of no words adequate enough to soothe her, so she leaned forward and kissed her again. Ryan felt clumsy in her body. Inexperienced and nervous, she didn’t know how to lead a kiss, so she simply pressed her lips against Tyson’s and breathed, hands shaking, and hoped that Tyson would not think her dumb for it. Tyson smiled, utterly endeared, and Ryan _felt_ it.

  
  


Tyson climbed over the ledge of the tub and settled herself in Ryan’s lap. A litany of words brimmed behind her lips, but they could do her heart not justice, so she tugged Ryan back into a kiss. Ryan’s lips were soft, and her chapstick tasted oddly sweet when Tyson swiped her tongue across her bottom lip; fondness bloomed inside of her as Ryan tentatively parted her lips to meet her. When Tyson broke away to brush her lips down the tender skin of Ryan’s neck, she left a trail of glittery lipgloss prints in her wake. Ryan awkwardly settled her hands on Tyson’s back, unsure of what to do with them, and whimpered as Tyson worried the skin above her collarbone between her teeth, causing a gorgeous rosy bruise to blossom. Ryan whined when Tyson nipped her playfully, and Tyson drew back, hovering her hand over Ryan’s hip.

  
  


“Can I eat you out?” Tyson asked, cupping her hand over Ryan’s panties to feel her heat as Ryan breathlessly gave her consent. 

  
  


“So pretty,” Tyson hummed as she knelt between Ryan’s thighs. She tugged down Ryan’s underwear and nuzzled against the dark hair covering her clit, inhaling the scent of her desire with a pleased sigh. As she pressed chaste kisses to Ryan’s clit, she traced her finger around the wetness gathering at her entrance, teasingly building her desire. 

  
  


When Tyson dipped the tip of her finger inside her, Ryan whimpered and widened her legs. 

  
  


“Good girl,” Tyson praised as she began lavishing her cunt in wet, open-mouthed kisses. 

  
  


Tyson slowly pushed her finger in deeper, drinking in the beautiful way Ryan’s eyes fluttered shut as she did so, and pumped into her with long, languid curls of her finger. She sucked gently on Ryan’s clit, teasing with soft flicks of her tongue, drawing out her pleasure until she was dripping down Tyson’s wrist. 

  
  


“Please,” Ryan whimpered, thighs trembling with need. Tyson pulled back up to meet Ryan’s eyes as she licked her wetness off of her wrist. 

  
  


“You want to come, baby girl?” Tyson purred, and smiled fondly at the sweet way Ryan blushed as she nodded. 

  
  


Tyson slipped in two fingers as she pressed her lips back to Ryan’s clit. Ryan gasped, hips jerking forward as Tyson sped up her hand. Tyson placed a gentle hand on her trembling thighs, tethering her to her world as she curled her fingers inside her. Tyson lightly scraped her teeth over her clit, and Ryan cried out, so she did it again. Ryan’s hips stuttered as she came, panting out Tyson’s name. Tyson withdrew her fingers, but continued lapping at her cunt, savoring her sweet, overwhelmed whimpers until Ryan pushed her away, whining that it was too much. 

  
  


Tyson settled back in Ryan’s lap and watched her catch her breath, mesmerized by her flushed, breathless beauty. She pressed her hand over Ryan’s heart and felt it beat beneath her skin, the gorgeous, stunning proof of her life. When Ryan regained her breath and her heartbeat had calmed beneath Tyson’s palm, she leaned up to catch her lips in another kiss. Tentatively, Ryan slipped her hand into Tyson’s sweats, and dragged her knuckle through the wetness between her thighs. Ryan pulled back, biting her lip and blushing, and then opened her mouth to knock Tyson off her feet.

  
  


“Sit on my face, please?” Ryan asked, shyness turned resolute by desire. 

  
  


“Oh, fuck, baby girl,” Tyson groaned. They struggled for a minute to position themselves within the confines of the bathtub, twisting and turning, knocking their knees and elbows against the porcelain until Ryan was finally able to tug Tyson’s hips down and settle cunt her against her lips. Tyson giggled ticklishly as Ryan’s fingers brushed over her sides, and it was such a breathtaking sound that Ryan’s heart skipped. 

  
  


Tyson was soaking, and Ryan licked up her desire greedily, with messy, needy strokes of her tongue. She curled her hands around the soft thickness of Tyson’s thighs and tenderly traced the grooves of her stretch marks as she held her still against her lips. The curls of Tyson’s pubic hair tickled her lips when she slipped her tongue between her folds, tracing the outline of her entrance with a teasing lightness that made Tyson shudder and helplessly bury her hands in Ryan’s hair. 

  
  


The sight of Ryan tucked between her thighs, with Tyson’s wetness shimmering on her skin, left Tyson dizzy and trembling. She looked lovely and lewd, as needy as Tyson felt herself. Ryan swirled her tongue over Tyson’s clit, and Tyson jolted when she began to lightly suck. Ryan pushed her hands against Tyson’s hips, encouraging her to grind down against her, so Tyson braced her arms against the back of the tub and swirled her hips experimentally. Ryan moaned her approval and lapped fervently at her clit, surprising Tyson when she slipped in two fingers. Tyson swore on a gasp, pumping her hips, desperately chasing her pleasure. When she came, Ryan followed her through it, collecting every drop of her desire until Tyson moved back and collapsed against her chest. 

  
  


Tyson sighed with content and kissed away the wetness that remained on Ryan’s swollen lips. She glanced up at Ryan, beaming, and then they both burst into a fit of giggling. Their happiness was too immense to contain, and it burst forth from their chests in a joyous duet until they were grasping at their sides and gasping.They were relieved, free from bearing the burden of unspoken devotion, free to say _I love you._

  
  


“We should probably shower,” Ryan suggested. They were both coated in hair clippings, and it itched terribly.

  
  


“Uh, so, I haven’t actually finished your haircut yet,” Tyson admitted sheepishly. 

  
  


“What? This usually takes me five minutes,” Ryan wanted to groan, but she still couldn’t stop smiling.

  
  


“I was taking my time,” Tyson defended.

  
  


“Evidently,” Ryan snorted. Tyson stuck her tongue out, and Ryan poked it, sending them both into another fit of giggles.

  
  


“At least I don’t have to worry about running out of time anymore,” Tyson murmured, eyes softening as she learned forward and pressed their foreheads together.

“Yeah.” Ryan closed her eyes, and inhaled the sweet, warm breaths that Tyson exhaled.

  
  


“Well,” Tyson said thoughtfully, “we will die someday, so technically, we _will_ run out of time.”

  
  


“Oh my god.” This time Ryan did groan.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> moey: I've been drafting author's notes for weeks, but none of them ever felt quite right. in the end, all it comes down to is this: thank you for being you, and I love you irrevocably. I hope that all the love I feel for you can shine through this fic instead because words are failing me here. I love you lots, moster. ♡ —trish


End file.
